At the still point of the turning world

Three years ago today, my two roommates convinced me to grab a New Orleans mask I had hanging on the wall, bring my thirteen year old hoodlum student and make an appearance at a party with many varieties of intoxicated people. I shouldn’t have gone. I am normally a much more responsible and rational person and would worry too much that my charge would tattle on me. But I went. And amidst the revelry and the bizarre costumes and the shirked responsibility, I met a boy who made me laugh. He wore a loud polyester shirt rolled up to his elbows and funky glasses that framed his very blue eyes; he cheated at cards with as much skill as he dealt them; he quipped back at every brilliant comment I could muster; put cocky drunk people in their place and directed my preteen to the video games in another room away from the bad influences; and generally began the process of making me fall in love with him.

On another October night, less than one year later, I married him. And I can’t help but feel very grateful that for one evening I departed from my normal sense of appropriateness and showed up at a Halloween party. And then showed up at a bowling event the next day and a night out for drinks a couple days later. And then talked all night a week after that and washed dishes in my kitchen with the low ceilings and then drove to Solvang and went to Roy and said I love you and then, one night on our way to see Jerry Seinfeld, that same boy who made me laugh had a ring turned in on his pinky finger and on the lawn of the courthouse made famous by Michael Jackson’s conviction, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his. And I said yes and I am and he is at home right now taking care of our little boy.

And it all started on Halloween, three years ago today. James, happy anniversary in a manner of speaking. You showed up and changed my world and I’m so glad you did.